


The Invention

by ChloShow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 18:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20050909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloShow/pseuds/ChloShow
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale get gelato and have an unexpected talk spurred on by a surprising discovery.





	The Invention

It was year 1 AA (After Armageddon) when recently banished demon Crowley and promptly fired angel Aziraphale readied themselves to exit a gelato shop, which housed a row of benches where a young couple found themselves completely neglecting their frozen purchases. The couple--newly dating Francesca and Soraya--had set their cups, one strawberries and cream and the other orange sherbet, to the side to enjoy something sweeter than any gelato shop in the world could offer--a kiss. 

Aziraphale opted for a cup of the stracciatella instead of a cone to lessen the chance he might stain his beloved coat. He grabbed extra serviettes for Crowley who had ordered two scoops of activated charcoal vanilla bean and claimed that black gelato could in no way stain his black attire. As Crowley descended the stairs to the shop, he saw Francesca and Soraya sharing their moment and found himself sighing as he and Aziraphale strolled away from the couple. 

“I told you it wouldn’t taste any different than regular vanilla,” Aziraphale lectured Crowley at what he perceived was disappointment in his purchase.

“No, it’s not that,” Crowley scowled, “It’s _ that_.” He gestured to the girls behind them. “Sometimes I regret inventing it.”

“You invented orange sherbet?”

“No, _ no_. _ That_,” he shrugged, hoping he didn’t have to say it.

Squinting at the scene and not anywhere closer to a conclusion than he was at first guess, Aziraphale stopped his staring and turned back around with confusion clear on his face, hoping that would prompt an explanation from Crowley.

“_ Thaaaat_,” Crowley intoned, “Oh, for Adam’s sake.”

“Lesbianism?” Aziraphale chanced, his voice betraying his bewilderment.

“_ No_, the--gah--it! Kissing!” He waved his hands, willing his gelato not to fall.

“What?” Aziraphale stopped on the sidewalk while Crowley strutted ahead. 

“Yes, that one was _ me_. Okay? And I’d like to forget about it, but it doesn’t seem that I’ll be able to any time soon,” Crowley shook his head and bit into the pitch black gelato, smearing it across his chin.

“Oh, here--you have,” Aziraphale handed him a serviette, which Crowley accepted despite his full knowledge that he could simply magic away the smear at will. 

“I mean...I didn’t invent it _ everywhere _ ,” Crowley continued his tirade, “That would be _ absurd_. No, I just invented it in Greece, and well, the Romans borrowed everything from the Greeks, and then all of Western civilization borrowed everything from the Romans as well, so that’s how _ that _ went.”

“I don’t understand.” It was true--Aziraphale was neglecting his stracciatella, but he simply couldn’t eat at a moment like this.

“I quite liked Greece in fact,” Crowley found himself losing the point of his speech as he did so many times, “They loved me there. Had a friend--you might know her; she wrote poems--name of Sappho. Wrote me poems. Never read ‘em o’course, but it was the thought that counts. Think she thought I was a goddess on account of the _ eyes_.”

“No, Crowley, _ stop. _ Stop. _ Stop walking, Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale stammered and blinked just as he did when Crowley suggested something disagreeable, but this wasn’t disagreeable. This was preposterous. “Technically I can see how it could be misused, but overall, I believe kissing has done the human race much good over the milenia. More good than evil for _ sure_.”

“I mean, it has paid dividends in Hell on the temptation market. First it’s kissing. Then they have the whole rigmarole of adultery to contend with.”

“Yes, but kissing is first and foremost an act of _ love_.”

“Hell doesn’t care about love. It cares about, oh, what’s the word. Starts with an L.”

“_Lust_?”

“Yes, that’s the one. _ Lust_. Where humans see someone and think, ‘I need them to stimulate my genitals immediately under any circumstances,’ which I don’t understand in the _ sli_ghtest,” Crowley shrugged making quick work of his activated charcoal vanilla bean gelato and carrying on down the sidewalk with Aziraphale catching up.

“Well, Crowley, perhaps you don’t understand because we are _ divine sexless beings_,” Aziraphale emphasized the last three words, “Or at least you _ were _.”

“No longer divine, but sexless indeed.”

“Yes, well, I can’t say I’m very divine either nowadays.”

“Oh, you’ll always be divine to me,” Crowley smirked, winking underneath his tinted glasses.

“But I don’t understand,” Aziraphale repeated--the wink unseen and lost on him, “_why _ you regret inventing it.”

“I’ll tell you why, angel,” Crowley ate the rest of his cone in three quick bites and wiped his hands together. “Humans _ love it_. They love it and won’t stop doing it and I don’t _ get it. _ Don’t get me wrong. I’ve _ tried _ to get it. But it’s just wet and leaves your mouth sore and sometimes they bite you or Heaven forbid try to taste the inside of _ your _ mouth.”

“I don’t know. From what I’ve _ read_, many people find the experience invigorating if they have the correct partner,” Aziraphale’s eyes glossed over at his memories of 19th century London and the men he’d seen gaze longingly into each other’s eyes, hoping futilely for someone to feel that way about him, “Maybe--now, forgive me for asking this, but have you ever kissed anyone you actually _ felt _ something for.”

“No,” Crowley drew out the syllable for a few seconds, “It’s like I said, I don’t understand human urges. Lust is not in my vocabulary.”

“I’m not talking about _ lust_, Crowley,” Aziraphale exhaled, wondering if Crowley was really as thick as he was letting on, “Love. You kiss people you _ love_. You _ do _love, don’t you?” He inspected Crowley’s unreadable expression, half-expecting him to prove him wrong. The thought pulled at him where long ago humans had decided love resided. Of course, they were wrong. And the modern idea that love was caused by chemicals in the brain was also wrong. Love was an immaterial force residing in the atom equivalent particles that made up the soul. Just as a light is both a wave and particle--a joke human scientists have failed to appreciate--love is both a particle and wave, a wave that, if converted to radio waves, would sound exactly like a certain song written by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. 

“Demons as a rule aren’t the biggest fans of love,” Crowley wiped his face with the serviette once more, tossed it in a nearby bin, and jammed the now free hand in his pocket, “Sure, we love _ murder _ and _ hate _ and _ destruction_. _ I _ love my Bentley, for example.” He ended this statement right as he decided to cross the street when the light had told him most certainly not to walk.

“Yes, that’s all well and good,” Aziraphale shouted, waiting for the light and hurrying across when it had finally changed, “But have you ever loved _ someone_.” Damn, his melting gelato. He needed an answer. They were nearly to his shop, and there was nothing to stop Crowley from leaving once they’d arrived at their destination and with that guaranteeing they’d never touch on the subject again.

“I’ve loved my best friend. Naturally,” Crowley’s mind whirred, thinking of an excuse to leave once he’d walked Aziraphale back to his shop. 

“And have you ever tried--kissing that person?” Aziraphale mentally scrolled through the humans and demons he knew Crowley to be acquainted with. Hastur? No. Ligur? Definitely not. Freddie Mercury? Possibly. 

“Not a person actually, no.” Ever since Crowley had left the services of Hell, he’d run out of good excuses to leave places. No more temptations to perform. Now he had to properly lie. “Ah, Aziraphale, I just remembered. I need to--”

“I don’t imagine another demon would be receptive to your advances, especially what with your new reputation,” Aziraphale chuckled to disguise his nerves. He removed a set of keys from his coat pocket and cursed himself for it, thinking he should’ve claimed he had left them behind at the gelato shop. In fact, he’d try that. He didn’t think Crowley had seen him anyway.

“What are you talking about?” Crowley looked at him properly--not out of the periphery as they had been. He had turned around in front of the book shop and scowled. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean that other demons wouldn’t want to kiss you just that they probably consider you a traitor and all considering that you helped stop Armageddon,” Aziraphale found the words tumbling out of his mouth beyond his control, so he decided to end his faux pas by smiling broadly and ending the conversation. “Well, what was that you said you had to…”

“Angel,” Crowley corrected him, “My best friend isn’t a demon. He’s an angel.”

“Oh. _ Ohhh_,” Aziraphale paused and subsequently managed to choke out a final question. “Wait, you mean to say, _ I _am your best friend?”

“Who else would it be,” Crowley delivered with a surprising softness, a smile gracing one side of his mouth. 

“And you--have most _ certainly _ not tried to--. Well. _ Well_,” Aziraphale fumbled with his keys while trying to keep the soupy remains of his gelato contained in its paper cup. As he turned to his shop’s door, he felt a hand on his, taking the cup away.

“There,” Crowley held the gelato in his hand, having transformed the melted stracciatella back into its pristine state and handing it to Aziraphale, “Sorry to upset you. I guess I’ll find my way to a tailor. It’s time I changed my look. World’s changed. We’ve changed.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale exclaimed fervently, the door to his shop behind him slightly ajar, “I thought, yes, we were friends, but I never knew--I never _ knew _ how you _ felt_. I thought you were aloof. Lackadaisical.”

“What gave you that impression?” Crowley’s voice wasn’t friendly. He’d yelled at people with much more volume and tenacity than this, but something about his voice at that moment hurt Aziraphale. “Was it all the times I sought out your company? Or the favors I’ve done for you? Or saving your life--on more than one occasion actually. Is that _ aloof _?”

Passersby took no heed of Crowley and Aziraphale’s conversation. They passed by whether by their blissfully unaware humanity or by a miracle, it didn’t matter. Aziraphale couldn’t do more than whisper, his mouth dry and throat constricting. He blamed his body, which wasn’t fair because he would’ve suffered the same symptoms had he been incorporeal. 

“I thought--perhaps--all of that happened because you were...rebellious. Rebelling against rebels. Or you were _ bored _ or it was a _ joke _ or--” 

“So I saved you from Nazis as a _ joke_.”

“Now that I say it out loud, it does sound--”

“Listen,” Crowley removed his glasses so that Aziraphale had no way of mistaking his meaning, “_ You _ are my best friend. I thought you knew that, but if you didn’t know that by now…” He breathed deeply and placed his glasses back over his eyes, readying himself for his next destination as he walked to his Bentley. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale pleaded to no avail, repeating his name once more before he moved toward the car. He balanced his cup of gelato on one of the Bentley’s fenders before grabbing Crowley’s hand to prevent him from leaving. Crowley had talked of change, and what that meant for them scared him. What if he were to change apartments so that he couldn’t find him? Move out of London? Godforbid, he would leave England.

“I never knew. I truly thought because of what we were that not only was the possibility of friendship ridiculous in the first place but that you would never consider _ me _a friend and that whole business of running away to Alpha Centauri was a ploy at avoiding our responsibility of saving the world.”

“What were we if not friends?” Crowley directed his question at the ground.

“Work...acquaintances,” Aziraphale sputtered. 

“Who take each other out to lunch,” Crowley had regained a proper bit of sarcasm at Aziraphale’s admission. 

“A working lunch.” 

Crowley laughed through his nose, “A working lunch with the rival business, angel.”

“I don’t think that anymore,” Aziraphale kept a hold of Crowley’s hand, “We’re friends. Best friends.”

“I’m your best friend?” Crowley asked with only the slightest air of incredulity.

“Who else would it be,” Aziraphale delivered softly, grinning as he felt Crowley grasp his hand in return. 

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to kiss you,” Crowley informed him, and Aziraphale laughed nervously. 

“No, no, of course not. Why would you--I would _ never _ be so bold as to--”

Crowley let Aziraphale’s sentence dangle unfinished as he led him by the hand back to the bookshop. He was right. The world had changed. They had changed. They missed what they had been but only because it was familiar. Otherwise, they welcomed the change.

And like a true gentleman Aziraphale was never so bold as to kiss Crowley. It would take the threat of an impending Armageddon for Crowley to make the move, which would occur precisely at 11:32AM May 21st, 10AA.


End file.
